


Wandering Souls

by BadOctopus



Category: Longmire (TV)
Genre: Awkward Tension, F/M, Friendship, Post-Season/Series 05, Post-Season/Series 05 Finale, Season/Series 05 Spoilers, Trust, native american Cultures
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-22
Updated: 2016-11-29
Packaged: 2018-09-01 10:16:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8620669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BadOctopus/pseuds/BadOctopus
Summary: The day after Cady's first ceremonial sweat, Jacob stops by with a gift. Post-Season 5 finale.





	1. Welcome to the Tribe

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Eliot_L](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eliot_L/gifts).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote a thing. I knew that until I wrote it and got it over with, I'd never get anything else done. Partial credit, at least, goes to Eliot_L, whose wonderful story "Blind Side" inspired me to write my own Longmire fanfic. Hope you enjoy it. Oh, and beware of some Season 5 spoilers.

The sun peeked persistently through the gray curtains in Cady Longmire's bedroom, as if calling to her attention the bright, clear Wyoming morning that she was currently frittering away. For what felt like the thousandth time, she rolled over onto her other side and drew the bedclothes over her head in a futile attempt to block out the light. But as tired as she was, sleep continued to elude her. Despite the fatigue that tugged at her body like a lead weight, her mind was a whirling tornado of turmoil.

After a full day of meditation and fasting, she had been out all night attending her first ceremonial sweat with her new Cheyenne family, and had not returned home until just past dawn the following day, exhausted and overwhelmed by the experience. The moment she had walked through the door, she had removed her traditional long dress, taken her hair out of its twin braids, and slithered bone-weary between her bedsheets. As she waited for oblivion, however, the events of the previous night began to replay before her closed eyelids.

The sweat had been divided into four sessions, each one nearly an hour long, with short intervals in between to allow the participants to cool off and rehydrate. The entire night had been devoted to singing, storytelling, prayers of gratitude, and requests for spiritual guidance and protection. Offerings of sage and tobacco had been made to the spirits, to petition them to bless and purify Cady before being accepted into the tribe. She was told by the medicine man that inside the sweat lodge, there was no color, no race, no gender. All were equal in the eyes of the Creator.

The heat had been unlike anything Cady had ever experienced in her life. At first it had made her feel dizzy, disoriented, and strangely weightless. Between the high temperatures, the humidity, the singing, and the steady beat of the drum, it had not taken long for her to lose track of time. Before long her mind began to play tricks on her, until she no longer even knew what was real.

It was then that the visions had started.

Her assistant Mandy had warned her that she may see strange things during the ceremony. Cady had assumed that the effects would be similar to what some reported experiencing while in isolation tanks; when faced with a lack of sensory patterns, the mind creates bizarre and sometimes disturbing images entirely on its own. But what Cady saw could not easily be explained away as a mere byproduct of sensory deprivation. What she saw felt more sinister. Looming. Portentous.

She could not begin to understand it. But tried as she might, she could not dismiss it, either.

Reluctantly, she peered out from beneath her fortress of blankets at the clock on her nightstand. Nearly eleven, and she was still wide awake. She knew she might as well give it up at this point. There was no possible way she could sleep while the memories of what she had seen continued to dance through her mind like some kind of ghoulish phantasmagoria.

With a groan of resignation, she crawled out of bed and stood up, combing her fingers through her tangled red hair, which still smelled of sage and tobacco from the sweat. Though her house was at a comfortable temperature, she couldn't seem to stop shivering. One image from her vision kept taunting her, daring her to legitimize it by acknowledging its power over her. She tried her best to ignore it, as if simply thinking about it would cause it to come true. But deep down, she knew she would know no peace until she was satisfied that her fears were groundless.

Throwing on a robe, she padded down the hall on bare feet to the living room, where she had haphazardly thrown her purse down earlier. Retrieving her cell phone, she scrolled through her contacts until she found the number for the Red Pony bar. She nearly hit the 'Call' button before realizing that today was the owner's day off. Feeling a bit foolish, she scrolled back up to the H's, found her godfather's name, and after a few seconds of indecision, dialled the number.

As the phone continued to ring, a slightly queasy sensation settled in the pit of Cady's stomach. Before long, she heard the familiar pre-recorded message in her ear: " _You have reached Henry Standing Bear. I am not available to take your call at the moment. Please leave your name and number, and I will call you back as soon as humanly possible. Have a wonderful day._ "

A beep followed the message, and Cady began to speak. "Hey, Henry, it's Cady. I, uhh... I don't really know why I'm calling. I had a..."

 _A weird night?_ No, that would sound disrespectful. "I had an interesting experience," she continued, "and I guess I was kind of hoping to talk to you about it. Call me back whenever you can."

She set down her phone with a sigh. She told herself that she was worrying over nothing. Henry was probably just enjoying his day off, fishing or visiting friends or something. Or perhaps he was just somewhere with poor reception; this was Wyoming, after all. No doubt there was a very simple reason why he was not answering his phone.

It was highly unlikely that anything had happened to him.

A shower. That was what she needed. And coffee. Lots of coffee.

Retracing her steps to the bathroom, Cady selected a playlist on her iPod, cranked up the volume, and soon the minimalist instrumentals and harmonizing vocals of The Civil Wars began to issue from her wireless speakers. As she showered, Cady let the music together with the piping hot water wash away her tension. She took her time, used the last of her favorite body wash, which she had been purposely saving. She deliberately avoided thinking about Henry. Or her father. Or owls. Especially owls.

She toweled off, dressed in loose, comfortable clothes, and combed out her wet hair, all the while trying not to snatch up her phone and check for any missed calls or texts. By the time she put the coffee on, she couldn't stand it any longer. She picked up her cell, and the vaguely nauseated feeling in her stomach grew more acute.

Still nothing.

Kicking herself mentally, she sent Henry a text: ' _Where are you?'_

Blowing out a breath in frustration, she set down her phone again, feeling like an idiot. She was being paranoid. So many terrible things had happened in just the last couple of years, she had somehow brainwashed herself into expecting the worst.

The doorbell rang, jolting her out of her thoughts. Surely that was Henry, in full apology mode for making her worry, and bearing a peace offering of fresh waffles. Quickly, Cady shut off the music and hurried to the door, her heart in her throat.

Instead, she was surprised to find Jacob Nighthorse standing on her front porch.

"Hey, little sister," he greeted.

Caught off guard by both his unexpected presence and his odd choice of appellation, Cady found herself fumbling for words. Her employer was dressed casually in dark jeans and a leather jacket over a gray sweater made of merino or alpaca wool. Suddenly she realized her hair was still damp and hanging in unruly waves, and she had no makeup on.

"Jacob," she managed to say at last, feeling her face grow warm. "Hi."

"You look surprised to see me," he observed. "Were you expecting someone else?"

"No," she replied quickly. "I thought you might be Henry. I've been trying to get hold of him." She moved aside and held the door open for him. "Come on in. Sorry I look so..."

"I forbid you from completing that sentence," he said firmly as he stepped into the foyer. "You look fine, Cady."

She turned away to hide a self-conscious smile. "Would you like some coffee?" she asked, gesturing vaguely in the direction of the kitchen. "I just made it."

"Please."

As Jacob followed her back to the kitchen, Cady hoped her confusion was not blatantly evident on her face. She had very nearly asked the man why he was there, at his employee's house on a weekend, but she knew how the question would have come across. She would have sounded hostile, defensive, suspicious. Just like her father.

No, she couldn't do that to Jacob. He had made it clear that he trusted her. She needed to show that she trusted him.

She poured him a cup of coffee, black at his request. He took a sip, and his eyebrows climbed upward. "Damn. That's good coffee."

"It's kona," she said. "I have a college friend from Hawaii who sends it to me. I've got another bag somewhere, if you want it."

He smiled to himself, as if amused by her knee-jerk hospitality. "Thank you. But no, you keep it. At the rate your legal aid center is currently exploding, you're going to need it."

Cady poured a cup for herself, stirred in a spoonful of sugar. "I'm just glad I can be of use," she said simply.

Jacob's faint smile lingered as he leaned against the counter. It struck Cady that he appeared oddly at home in her kitchen. The realization was a startling one, to say the least.

"I heard about the sweat," he remarked at length.

His tone, as usual, was impassive, conveying neither pleasure nor disapproval. He was always so damned hard to read. But now Cady understood why he had called her 'little sister'. Surely that was a good sign.

"So you've been officially welcomed into the tribe," he went on. "That's wonderful news, Cady."

She smiled in relief. "Thank you. It's an incredible honor." She sipped her coffee, before adding tentatively, "To be honest, I wasn't sure how you'd take it."

Jacob put his head on one side. "Why is that?"  
  
She gave an awkward shrug, looking down regretfully at the chipped polish on her toenails. "Having a Longmire in the tribe might be a bitter pill to swallow for some."

"As I understand it, you're not Cady Longmire anymore. You're Cady White Bird. Emphasis on the 'white'."

Cady looked up sharply to find him smirking at her, his hazel eyes holding a rare gleam of mischief.

"Funny," she said dryly.

Jacob gave a soft huff of laughter. "Joking aside, you have done — you _are_ doing  — a great service for this tribe." He set his mug on the counter. "Which is why I wanted to give you this."

She watched with wide eyes as he reached into his jacket and pulled out a small object, roughly the size of her fist, in the shape of a turtle. It appeared to be made of deer hide, with blue and green glass beads woven into a geometric pattern on a white background of porcupine quillwork. Attached to it was a long, thin cord, also of hide.

An objection rose to Cady's lips, almost without conscious thought. "You don't have to give me anything, Jacob, really..."

She trailed off as she saw the serious expression on his face. "It's considered very rude in Cheyenne culture to refuse a gift, Cady," he said, his tone gentle but grave.

"Sorry," she said, her face burning with embarrassment. "It's beautiful. What...?"

"What is it?" Jacob smiled slightly. "This is an umbilical cord holder. It's a tradition, though sadly not as prevalent as it used to be, that when a baby is born, its umbilical cord is placed in an amulet and attached to the baby's crib or cradleboard: a turtle for girls and a lizard for boys. Both animals represent good health and longevity. These amulets serve to connect the child to the earth, its tribe, and its family, as well as protect it from harm."

He inclined his head. "Of course, you're hardly an infant, but you are a newborn Cheyenne, so... better late than never, right?"

He held it out to Cady, and she set her own coffee aside and took it carefully. It smelled faintly of sage. As she turned it over in her hands, admiring the intricate beadwork, she felt a strange tightness form in her chest.

"Jacob... I'm touched. I don't know what to say. Thank you so much."

He simply nodded his acknowledgment, stoic to the last.

"So, you have one in the shape of a lizard?" she asked, to fill the silence more than anything else.

At this Jacob grew still. "No," he said at length. "I wasn't raised by Cheyenne parents, so I was not given an amulet."

His tone was indifferent, but from the way he avoided her gaze, it seemed to Cady that she had touched on a sensitive subject.

"I'm sorry," she said quietly.

He didn't seem to hear her. His eyes still far away, he continued in a low voice, "It's said that the soul of a child who does not have his umbilical cord prepared in the traditional Cheyenne way will always be doomed to wander the earth." His lips quirked in a slight, bitter smile. "Your dad would be pleased to hear that."

Cady felt a pang at his words. She reflected on his ambitious nature, his obsessive need to achieve success. Perhaps, she thought, the reason he always tried so hard to prove himself was that he was searching for a part of him that was still lost. Then, abruptly, she chastised herself for getting so carried away.

"Well," she said, "no one saved my umbilical cord when I was born, either, so... I guess we're both wandering souls."

It was a weak attempt to lighten the mood, but surprisingly, it appeared to work. As Cady watched, the tension left Jacob's compact frame, and the shadows fled from his face.

Instead of answering her directly, he stepped closer to her, tapped the amulet with his fingers. "This one is just filled with buffalo hair, sage, and sweetgrass, but it's been imbued with prayers and protective medicine." He lifted his gaze to meet hers, and his eyes were warm. "Welcome to the tribe, Cady."

She smiled, overcome with gratitude. Without thinking, she closed the short distance between them and hugged him, still clutching the amulet in one hand. Almost instantly, she regretted her impulsive action; though she was a hugger by nature, she always seemed to forget that not everyone was as comfortable with displaying affection as she was. She was relieved, however, when Jacob's arms went easily around her, returning her embrace.

Whenever Cady was with Jacob, she was extremely conscious of her above-average height, especially when she wore high heels. But in her bare feet, he was slightly taller than her. He was warm and solid, and smelled of leather and aftershave.

Out of nowhere, she suddenly heard her father's words echoing through her head: _'Nighthorse is not your friend.'_

He was wrong. He had to be. Jacob was not perfect, but he seemed genuinely to care about his people, and he had demonstrated it in numerous ways. And he cared about her. He had put an incredible amount of faith in her. His rifle had saved her life. He had even told her that he was proud of her.

When was the last time her father had said he was proud of her? With a rush of sadness, she was forced to admit that she could not even remember.

It was then that she realized that she was crying all over Jacob's expensive leather jacket.

He cleared his throat lightly in her ear. "This is not quite the reaction I'd expected," he said in an even voice.

Cady pulled away, wiping at her eyes. "I'm sorry, it's just... I don't understand why you're so nice to me." Aware of how childish she sounded, she attempted to explain. "I mean, given your history with my dad... _and_ my mom..."

Jacob heaved a sigh. "Cady," he murmured softly. "You are not your father, or your mother. I would never blame you for their actions."

She shook her head. "Thanks for letting me off the hook, but... I haven't exactly been friendly to you, either. I mistrusted you, I questioned your motives. When you tried to give me that rifle, I thought you were threatening me." Her smile was mirthless, tinged with remorse. "Frankly, I've been a huge jerk."

He touched her lightly on the elbow. "Here, let's sit down."

He led her to the living room, and they both sat side by side on the sofa. As he leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees, Cady caught the barest glimpse of a handgun beneath his jacket, tucked into the waistband of his jeans. Apparently he still had concerns about his safety. She found herself wondering how things had gotten to this point. Perhaps she was just being naïve, but she never remembered her beloved hometown being so full of crime and corruption and danger when she was growing up. When had it all changed?

"It can be difficult," Jacob said slowly, "to overcome preconceived ideas about people. Especially when those ideas have been fed to you by your own loved ones. Believe me," he added wryly, "I know from personal experience."

His next words were chosen with obvious care. "I understand completely why you didn't trust me. But I'm grateful that you gave me the opportunity to prove myself to you."

"I'm the one who should be grateful, Jacob," she told him earnestly. "You've shown so much confidence in me. You've... _believed_ in me. And my dad... My dad..." Her voice broke, and fresh tears sprang to her eyes. "My dad has not had _one_ good thing to say about what I'm trying to do for the tribe. He's been against my work from the start. He even... implied it was _my_ fault that I was attacked. That if I hadn't taken the job, it never would have happened."

"Hey. Hey." Jacob edged closer, until their knees were almost touching. "Don't you believe that for a second," he said, his voice low but firm. "That was nobody's fault but J.P. Wright's." He placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. "You acted bravely and selflessly. You did nothing wrong."

Cady sniffed, embarrassed at losing her composure twice in front of her employer in one morning. "I just... I want my dad to be proud of me," she confessed, absently looping the little turtle amulet around her wrist. "But the way he looks at me these days... It's like he thinks I've betrayed him by working for you."

Jacob's hand fell away, and he sighed. "I'm afraid I'm to blame for that. When I asked you to provide legal aid for my people — _our_ people  — I had no hidden agenda, as much as Walt would like to believe. I chose you because you were the ideal candidate. But I failed to consider the ramifications it would have on your relationship with your father." He shook his head, as if rebuking himself. "I should have known it would cause difficulties. I've done a disservice to you, Cady, and I apologize for that. I truly never meant to drive a wedge between the two of you."

"You don't have to apologize," she said. "I'm glad you asked me. It's just..." She trailed off in frustration.

"I know," he murmured. He ran a hand through his gravity-defying salt-and-pepper hair. "Your dad is proud of you. He'd have to be an idiot _not_ to be, and whatever else Walt Longmire may be, he's no idiot. He'll come around, once he sees the difference you're making. The hope you've brought to people who had given up on seeing justice." He hesitated an instant, then reached out and patted her hand. "Just give him time."

Cady suspected he was just trying to make her feel better; he wasn't exactly known for his optimism. But she appreciated the gesture all the same. "I hope you're right," she said.

His hand was still on hers. "If not," he said softly, so softly it made her shiver unexpectedly, "you could always get Henry to beat him up again."

Cady's head snapped up, and she stared at him. His face remained unchanged, but his eyes held that devilish glint again. At once she burst out laughing, in a release of pent-up tension. A smile touched his lips, betraying his pleasure at making her laugh, but it was quickly kept in check.

Too soon, however, Cady's own smile faded as she was reminded of Henry. She still had not heard back from him, and it was unlike him. He was usually so conscientious about returning her calls. Despite her innate common sense, she again found herself worrying about the man who, of late, had been in many ways more of a father to her than her biological one.

She turned to Jacob, who had settled back into the sofa. "Can I ask you something?"

"Shoot."

Cady hesitated, unsure how to articulate what she wanted to say. "You've been to a lot of sweats. Have you ever... experienced visions? Seen things that... weren't really there?" She bit her lip, staring down at the amulet in her hands without really seeing it. "Things you... you couldn't..."

Suddenly she was trembling again.

Jacob sat up straight, looking at her intently. "What did you see, Cady?"

Cady returned his gaze with wide, haunted eyes. "Nothing good."

She did her best to describe to him the images she had seen. Henry hanging from a tree, a ringing phone in his hand. Her father's home and the sheriff's office, empty. Mandy on her hands and knees, futilely attempting to sop up a vast pool of blood. For some reason she omitted the part Jacob had played in her vision; she wasn't sure how he would react to it, and she herself had no idea what to make of it.

And then, the owl. How it had simply sat there, staring into her soul. As if it had been trying to tell her something. What that something was, she did not know.

Jacob sat silently, his hands clasped in his lap, his expression unreadable. He made no interjections, asked no questions.

"Henry told me once that owls are a bad omen," she said. "That they were messengers of the camp of the dead. I don't really know what that means. I don't know what _any_ of it means. And maybe I'm being paranoid, but..." She exhaled shakily. "I just can't get rid of this feeling that... something's happened to Henry. Or _going_ to happen. And every second that goes by that I don't hear from him, that feeling only gets stronger."

For several seconds, Jacob did not speak. Cady wondered what he was thinking. If he had been anyone else, he might have dismissed her fears as superstition. But she knew he was a man who took the spiritual aspects of his culture very seriously.

His answer, when it finally came, was not what she was expecting. "Would it help to put your mind at ease if I asked Mathias to see if he can track him down, make sure he's all right?"

Cady felt her mouth drop open slightly at his offer. "It really would," she had to concede. "I feel stupid for even admitting it, but—"

"Say no more." He watched as he pulled his cell phone from his jacket and dialed the chief of the tribal police. "Mathias," he said into the phone. "It's Jacob. Would you mind ascertaining the whereabouts of Henry Standing Bear? He's not answering his phone, and it's giving rise to some concerns." There was a pause. "Yes, I know it's your day off. Do it anyway."

Cady smiled despite herself.

"Please," he added, almost as an afterthought. "I'll owe you a favor." Another pause. "All right, thanks. Yep. I'll see you later, man." He hung up and returned his phone to his inner pocket.

"Thank you," she said sincerely.

Jacob nodded, looking thoughtful. "You said Henry told you that owls are messengers of death. That's partially true. The Cheyenne word for 'owl' is also a word we use to describe a non-human ghost. But not all owls are _mistai_. Some are the spirits of departed humans. Others are witches who have taken animal form." He shrugged. "And some are just... owls."

"So how do you tell the difference?" Cady asked.

"It's hard to say. But it doesn't necessarily mean that anyone has died. It could be that it was trying to warn you of impending danger."

"What kind of danger?" she persisted.

Jacob shook his head. "I don't know," he said grimly. "But it's a warning we would all do well to heed."

He looked over at her and noticed the troubled expression on her face. "Don't worry, Cady," he told her, patting her reassuringly on the knee. "It'll be okay. Trust me."

Cady wanted to trust him. She wanted it so badly that it surprised her. But she was caught in a war between what her father was telling her and what her own heart was telling her.

_Nighthorse is not your friend._

_I was raised by a white woman. And I know there are a few special ones out there._

_Jacob is the one who put you in danger in the first place. That's what he does._

_I'm proud of you, Cady._

He patted her knee one last time before rising from the sofa. "Why don't you try and get some sleep? You've been up all night. I'll let you know if I hear anything from Mathias."

Cady tried to muster a smile. "That's probably a good idea," she replied, getting to her feet. "Thanks for this," she added, holding up the turtle amulet. "And for... everything else."

Jacob nodded again.

She started to walk him to the front door, when she was struck by a sudden thought. "Wait, hold on." She ran to the kitchen and grabbed her extra bag of kona coffee from the pantry. Then she returned to the foyer and pushed the bag into his hands.

Jacob sighed, half-vexed and half-amused. "Cady..."

She fixed him with a hard look. "It's considered rude in our culture to refuse a gift, Jacob."

He bowed his head in defeat, a smile tugging at his lips. "Well played."

He took the coffee, regarded her for a moment in his usual, inscrutable way. And then he must have seen something fragile and lost and bewildered in her eyes, because he stepped forward and pulled her into another embrace. Cady clutched tightly at his jacket, breathing in his scent, grateful for his gesture of comfort, as well as his inexplicably reassuring presence.

After a few seconds, he released her and stepped out onto the porch. "Stay out of trouble."

Cady smiled. "Same to you, boss."

Jacob gave her a farewell wave and descended the porch steps to his car. As Cady watched him leave, she suddenly wished she hadn't called him "boss". Somewhere along the way, Jacob Nighthorse had become more than her boss. She wasn't sure exactly _what_ he had become to her, but it was enough to make her nervous and strangely excited at the same time.

 _If Dad could read my mind right now, he'd murder us both,_ she thought wryly.

She decided to heed Jacob's advice and padded back to her bedroom, changing into some pajamas. Before crawling into bed, she took the turtle amulet and looped it twice around the corner of her headboard. For some reason, it made her feel safe; not unlike what she had felt when Jacob hugged her. _Get a grip, Cady._

And yet, as she finally drifted off to sleep, she could not help thinking about a certain wandering soul, and hoping that someday, he found whatever it was he was looking for. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is Jacob Nighthorse trustworthy? Does he really care about Cady, or is he just using her to mess with Walt? Personally, I think he's a good guy, but that's the beauty of his character. You just don't know. 
> 
> The umbilical cord amulet is a real tradition in many Plains Indian cultures. I consulted a Native American on the subject, and he said that it was acceptable to give the amulets to non-Natives, and that other items could be placed inside them, "as long as the intent, prayers, medicine and energy put into it embodies the same as that of an umbilical cord." Of course, every culture is different, so what might be acceptable in one tribe might not be in another. 
> 
> I meant for this to be a one-shot, but I might continue it, depending on whether or not there's any interest in my doing so. Let me know if you'd like to see more.


	2. That Way Madness Lies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I guess I'm continuing this! Your reviews were so kind and encouraging, I just couldn't leave you all hanging. And also... I was not prepared for how much fun it would be to write for this fandom. Seriously. I love this. Anyway, hope you like.

Behind the wheel of his silver Chrysler 300S, Jacob Nighthorse sped along the dirt road toward his house, deep in thought. The looming bank of thunderheads that gathered on the horizon in his rear-view mirror was a perfect accompaniment to his mood. There were innumerable reasons for his abstraction, each and every one an unavoidable part of owning and running multiple businesses. At times they seemed an insurmountable obstacle standing in the way of his vision — the betterment of his tribe. Other times, they were just a colossal pain in the ass.

For one, there was the matter of hiring more chefs for the casino. Jacob had hand-picked the initial team himself, having been impressed by their culinary skills. But as the casino continued to draw more customers, the strain on the kitchen staff continued to increase. The buffet, especially, seemed to draw white people in like mosquitoes to a neon porch light. He was supposed to interview several prospective staff members, which involved traveling all over the state and critiquing their cuisine, but had yet to find the time to do so.

There was also the unfortunate fact that his hotel's head housekeeper had informed him that she had been forced to fire three maids within the last month for stealing from the guests' rooms. It was all well and good to tell employees that dishonest behavior reflected badly on the business, and on the Cheyenne community in general, but it had little effect on people who had been accustomed to living in poverty. All the same, he regretted having to let them go. With that black mark on their resumes, it would only make it even more difficult for them to find employment in the future.

And then there was the ongoing issue of advertising for the casino. His marketing team was trying to get him to approve a new commercial, but so far he had vetoed every one of their offerings. Apparently it was impossible to attract tourists and portray Native American cultures in a positive light at the same time.

If business matters were not enough, there was a new development to occupy his thoughts: his conversation with mayor-of-Durant-and-human-Kewpie-doll, Sawyer Crane. Jacob had never had much respect for Crane. He found him ingratiating, insincere, and spineless; the sort of man who would sell his own mother down the river if it gained him the support of his constituency. But this time, the hapless soul he was proposing to sell was none other than Sheriff Walt Longmire. Crane had not specified why, exactly, he wanted Longmire out of office, but he had made it clear that it would be worth Jacob's while to help the process along. Until recently, Jacob would have liked nothing better than to see Longmire permanently removed from office.

But that had been before Cady started working for him.

And _that_ was the reason his hands now gripped the steering wheel with more than necessary force. Without intending it, Cady Longmire had made his life significantly more complicated. He hadn't been lying when he told her that he had hired her because she was the most suitable candidate; she was competent, principled, and reliable, and she had made it clear she was interested in providing legal services for the reservation. Perhaps there was a small, petty, immature part of him that enjoyed the idea of ruffling Walt's feathers, but no real malice had been intended. In fact, he had hardly even spared Cady more than the occasional thought. At first.

He saw her so rarely in the beginning that, for a while, it had been easy to forget she even existed. But with every subsequent interaction, the idealistic young lawyer had unwittingly raised her employer's opinion of her. As he witnessed her determination and dedication to his people, it had become more and more difficult to maintain his indifference. And when she had risked her life to save Asha Wright, Jacob had been forced to concede the truth — that Cady Longmire was no ordinary woman.

And that truth had been confirmed when news spread like wildfire of her acceptance into the tribe. When he had heard that a sweat was being planned, the ease and speed with which Jacob had decided on a gift to give her was, frankly, somewhat disconcerting. As he set about obtaining the amulet and finding a medicine man to offer prayers over it, he tried very hard not to analyze his motives. But in the back of his mind, he knew he would not have done the same for the majority of his employees.

Still, her reaction had been worth it.

Suddenly the memory of Cady's arms around him, her body infusing him with warmth, the scent of her damp hair and clean skin invading his nostrils, rose unbidden in his consciousness, strong as a physical presence. Quickly, mercilessly, he eradicated it from his mind. Nothing good would come of entertaining such thoughts; _That way madness lies,_ he mused ruefully, recalling a line from _King Lear_.

He had to admit, though, he had felt an absurd surge of pride when Cady had confided the details of her vision to him. Pride, and concern as well. For earlier that morning, Jacob had discovered that his antique picket pins — the stakes to which the Dog Soldiers used to tie themselves to hold their ground in battle — were missing from his property. It seemed almost impossible that anyone could have taken them under the noses of his armed detail, but someone had done so. And with Standing Bear uncharacteristically failing to return Cady's calls, the vague unease which had been gnawing at his stomach began to take on a more definite shape. If Henry had indeed gone missing, there was one very obvious reason for it. Malachi Strand had gotten to him.

In hindsight, Jacob should have known that Malachi would not simply accept his banishment from the tribe with humility and fortitude. The man had no honor, no ethics whatsoever. If he held no compunctions about abusing his authority and flouting the law when he was the head of the Tribal Police, why should he feel any obligation to respect one of the oldest laws of their people? And yet if Malachi did have anything to do with Henry's current phone silence, he was taking an enormous risk, since he would be everyone's prime suspect. Besides, getting revenge on a humble bar owner seemed so... small-time. Would Malachi really be that petty?

Jacob shook his head. He was worrying over nothing. Standing Bear was probably not returning his goddaughter's calls because he was out of cell range. Or his phone was dead. Nothing could be simpler.

The car slowed as Jacob approached the gated drive which led to his sprawling estate. The apprehension that constricted his gut was accompanied by another feeling: guilt. If something _had_ happened to Standing Bear, then he was partially responsible. He was the one, after all, who had recruited Henry to help obtain evidence of Malachi's corruption. In the event that the old traitor had taken revenge on Henry, whatever happened to him would be on Jacob's head.

Cady would never forgive him.

And Walt would almost surely kill him.

Muttering a curse under his breath, Jacob threw the car into reverse and swung it around, pointing it in the direction of the Red Pony. As he drove directly toward a rapidly darkening sky, the color of a fresh bruise, he tried not to dwell on the new thought that had joined the clamoring congregation of anxieties that constantly jockeyed for his attention: that if Malachi had gotten to Henry, then he would be coming after him next.

When he pulled into the parking lot of the Red Pony bar, he was not surprised to find Mathias's obscenely oversized police truck already there, parked across three spaces. Grabbing his SIG-Sauer P220 from the passenger seat, he tucked it into the waistband of his jeans and pulled his shirt down over it. He got out of his car as the first fat raindrops began to fall, trickling down the back of his neck and under his jacket. A low roll of thunder rumbled in the distance.

Entering the Red Pony, he scanned the dimly lit room, looking for Mathias's familiar wiry figure. Quickly, he spotted the Tribal Police chief at the end of the bar, talking to one of the waitresses. He noticed Jacob and sauntered over to meet him in his unhurried way.

"Turns out your concerns weren't entirely unwarranted," he said without preamble, as if simply resuming their earlier conversation. "Standing Bear hasn't been seen since last night."

Jacob pinched the bridge of his nose. Mathias was saying something about Henry offering to drive some distraught girl home the night before, but he barely heard him. Out of nowhere, an image of Cady flashed through his mind, staring at him hopefully with those giant blue eyes of hers, trusting him not to let her down. _Damn,_ he thought. _Damn, damn, damn._

He cleared his throat. "Has the sheriff been notified?" he asked when he was once again fully composed.

Mathias arched an eyebrow. "Longmire? Are you kidding? Last time I saw him, I'd just had to arrest him after he started a fight with Standing Bear. That man is not stable."

"Someone should still tell him. This isn't within your jurisdiction."

"Are you volunteering?"

Jacob snorted. "An excellent idea. There's no chance he'd find a way to blame _me_ for Henry's disappearance."

"At this point, I'm not sure he'd even care," Mathias said sourly. "The two of them aren't exactly on good terms right now. I nearly had to pry them apart with a crowbar."

Jacob shook his head. "What started that fight, anyway?" he couldn't help asking.

The police chief crossed his arms over his chest. "Longmire accused Henry of being Hector," he said evenly.

A sharp bark of laughter escaped him. "He's not, is he?"

Mathias did not answer. As Jacob stared at him, his amusement abruptly faded. "Son of a bitch, Mathias," he growled. "You have _got_ to be kidding me."

Suddenly he found himself being grabbed by the arm and pulled into Henry's office at the back of the bar. Quickly, Mathias closed the door, before turning and glaring at Jacob. "This doesn't go beyond this room, Nighthorse," he warned him sternly.

Jacob was furious. "Are you telling me that Henry is running around as the new Hector, and you _knew?_ " he hissed.

"We had an arrangement. Since dissolved. He took care of matters on the Rez which were outside of my jurisdiction. In return, I didn't disclose the part he played in Tyler Malone's death, or Gab Langton's mysterious disappearance."

Jacob felt his lip curl involuntarily in disdain. "Wow," he said in amazement. "Anything to save your ass, huh?"

"Anything to save our tribe," Mathias snapped. "You know exactly how much power I have on the Rez. Hector did the things I couldn't." His dark eyes boldly met Jacob's gaze. "My number one priority is to protect our people. If doing that meant using Hector, I won't apologize for it."

For the moment, Jacob was too weary and distracted to argue. "You say you ended this little... alliance?"

Mathias shrugged. "With Longmire sniffing around, and the bounty on Hector's head, I figured it was time to let Henry off the hook."

"And now he's missing," Jacob murmured, mostly to himself.

_And it's my fault._

"You were right about one thing," said Mathias. "There's nothing more I can do here. Henry doesn't live on the Rez. This is Sheriff Longmire territory. Someone should tell him. And since you dragged me out of my house on a Sunday to bring it to my attention, I nominate you."

Jacob sighed and passed a hand over his face. "There's someone else I need to tell first."

Assuming he could bring himself to tell her.

* * *

 

If there was one thing Walt Longmire hated, it was feeling powerless. He was not ashamed to admit that he enjoyed being in control, whether it was being in charge of his department, being the sole owner of his home and property, or even being the master of his own emotions. But now, he had no power over any of those things. His life was stampeding out of control, and for the first time in his life, he had no idea what to do about it.

He sat in the cab of his pickup, idling outside his daughter's house. She was home at the moment, her Jeep parked in the driveway. He had come into town with the intent of taking her out to lunch; he knew her office on the reservation was closed on Sundays. But for some reason, he couldn't bring himself to shut off the engine. Instead he sat staring at the windshield, watching the raindrops crawl like snails down the glass.

Try as he might, Walt could no longer ignore the seriousness of his situation. He was in imminent danger of losing everything he had worked for, everything he loved. The possibility of losing Barlow Connelly's wrongful death suit was not just a plausible outcome, but a likely one. If that happened, he would be removed from his office as sheriff. Hell, Mayor Crane was already pushing him to step down temporarily until the lawsuit was over. And if he did lose, he would have to sell his house and his land. He would be without a home, without a job. The very notion was surreal.

If that were not enough, he was losing his family, as well. Cady was working for Jacob Nighthorse, the man whose casino her own mother had fought against for years. The man responsible for bringing a flood of crime and corruption to their beloved county. The man who had put her directly in danger, knowing full well what he was doing. And somehow, she had no idea of his true nature. Nothing Walt might say or do could succeed in knocking Nighthorse from the pedestal that Cady had put him on. He had already poisoned her mind.

Henry Standing Bear, his best friend since sixth grade, had been pulling further and further away from him. They had always differed in their opinions on what constituted justice on the Rez, but Walt would never have thought that Henry would take to vigilantism. And yet, he appeared to have done precisely that. All evidence seemed to point to Henry being the new Hector, the reservation's personal thug for hire. And when Walt had confronted him about it, his friend had lied to his face. He felt like he didn't even know him anymore.

He'd lost Donna, but he wasn't sure if that had been anyone's fault. God knew he had done everything he'd known how to make it work, but a part of him suspected they had just been fooling themselves, sticking it out because they cared for each other, when the truth was that they simply hadn't been compatible. Sometimes caring just wasn't enough.

Walt examined his reflection in his rear-view mirror, taking in the bloodshot eyes and the multiple days' worth of stubble on his face. Some days he even felt like he was losing himself. He found himself getting angry at the oddest times, over the most trivial matters. His deputies had certainly noticed; Vic Moretti, in particular, was not the least bit hesitant about calling him out when he was behaving like a jackass. It was one of the reasons he kept her around. Still, it was worrying. Walt had always prided himself on being able to keep a cool head, but just recently, he had taken a swing at his best friend. He didn't know who this new Walt Longmire was, with his persecution complex and his hair-trigger temper. He wasn't at all sure he cared to know him.

Sighing, he ran a hand absently over his chin. He really should have shaved before coming over to see Cady; there was zero chance she would refrain from commenting on his slovenly appearance. Like mother, like daughter.

With that thought, he switched off the engine and climbed out of his truck, splashing through the puddles that had formed in the gravel driveway. He loped up the walk to Cady's house, removed his hat, and attempted to wipe his mud-caked boots on the doormat. Then he raised his hand and knocked.

At first there was no answer. He tried again. As usual, he had forgotten to call her to make sure she was actually home. Her vehicle was there, but she might have gone with Henry somewhere. But as he was turning to leave, he heard the deadbolt slide back, and Cady stood blinking at him from the doorway.

"Dad." Her voice was slightly hoarse.

"Hey, Punk," he said with a small smile. "Feel like going out to lunch?"

Cady returned his smile. "Sounds great. I'm starving. Let me just throw myself together first." She shot him a smirk over her shoulder. "Looking kind of scruffy, Dad."

Walt chuckled.

She stepped back to let him inside, and he got a better look at her. Although it was early afternoon, she was still in her pajamas, and her hair was a tangled mess. She appeared as if she had just rolled out of bed. It was unlike her to laze around the house all day; she had always shared her mother's borderline-fanatical industriousness.

Setting down his hat, he followed her back to her bedroom and stood outside while she changed her clothes. "You coming down with something?" he asked through the door.

"Oh, no, I'm all right," she called back. "I just had a long night, that's all. You know my assistant Mandy? Her aunt, Celia White Bird, was so happy that I hired her niece that she decided to adopt me into the tribe."

It took a second or two for Walt's brain to register what she had just said. "You were accepted into the tribe?"

"Yeah! Pretty crazy, right?" She sounded as if she could hardly believe it herself. "The ceremony was last night. I meant to tell you earlier, but there was so much to do. Well, you've been to sweats, so you know. Fasting and meditation, and finding the right clothes, and an offering to bring to the sweat leader. I guess the time just got away from me."

She opened the door, dressed in jeans and a heather gray shirt and looking apologetic. "I'm sorry, Dad. I should have told you."

"No, no, that's okay," he told her, still in surprise over this development. "That's, uhh... That's quite an honor. Not many outsiders are welcomed into the tribe, so... You must be doing something right."

Cady's cheeks took on a rosy tint. "I don't know about that," she said with an embarrassed shrug. "But I hope I can make a difference."

She turned and went into her adjoining bathroom to attempt to get her hair under control. Out of the corner of his eye, Walt noticed a brightly-colored object hanging from Cady's headboard, and he strode over to inspect it. It was a small amulet made of deer hide, decorated with blue and green beads, in the shape of a turtle. As he stared at it, he experienced a strange, tingling sensation in the back of his neck.

Cady returned from the bathroom, her long red hair wound up into a loose bun. "Oh," she said, observing him holding the little object in his hand. "That's—"

"A natal amulet," Walt finished. "I know. Did Celia White Bird give it to you?"

His daughter did not answer right away, arousing his suspicions. "No," she said at length, her tone carefully even. "No, Jacob did."

 _Of course he did,_ he thought, his hunch confirmed. "And why did Nighthorse give you a natal amulet?"

Cady gave a shrug. "It was a present," she said simply. "To say 'Welcome to the tribe'."

"You sure about that?" he asked in a low voice.

She frowned. "Why else would he give it to me?"

Walt shook his head. "Don't know," he replied. "Truth is, you never know with Jacob. You say he gave you that rifle as a symbol of trust; I say he gave it to you because he knew he was putting you in harm's way."

He dropped the amulet, watching as it swung slowly back and forth from its long tether. "I'd be very careful about accepting anything from that man, Cady."

She exhaled through her nose, as if trying to reign in her temper. "Look, can we not talk about Jacob? I just want to go out and have a pleasant meal with my dad. Okay?"

He regarded his daughter's tired face and pleading eyes, and felt his resolve crumble. "Sure," he conceded, giving her a pat on the shoulder. "Busy Bee?"

Cady smiled. "That sounds perfect."

She proceeded to collect her purse, keys, and phone, which she seemed to have set down in completely separate and random places in her house. "You haven't heard from Henry today, have you?" she asked.

She appeared to be unaware that she had touched on a sore subject. "No," Walt said shortly.

"Damn it," she muttered, staring down at her cell phone. "He's not answering my calls or texts. Where _is_ he?"

Suddenly she yelped as her phone went off, nearly causing her to drop it in surprise. Then, as she looked down at the identity of the person calling, she flushed to the roots of her hair. Darting a quick glance at her father, she cleared her throat and held the phone to her ear.

"Hi, Jacob."

Walt felt his jaw tighten and his fists clench.

"Yeah, I was able to sleep for a couple hours, thanks," she said, oblivious to his mounting rage. "Did Mathias get back to you? What did he say?"

He watched as the color drained from Cady's face. "Oh, God." She swallowed, took a deep breath. "Okay. Umm... My dad's here with me right now. Maybe you should talk to him."

She held the phone out to him. Torn between being forced to talk to the sleazy casino owner and wanting to know what the hell was going on, he snatched it from her.

"Nighthorse," he said coldly.

"Sheriff." Jacob's voice was grave. "I'm genuinely sorry to have to be the one to do this. But it looks like I'm going to need to file a missing persons report."

Walt looked at Cady. Her eyes were wide with fear. "For who?" he asked, somehow already knowing the answer.  
  
"Henry Standing Bear."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... end notes. Writing from Jacob's point of view was hard. The man is a cipher. I hope I didn't completely mangle his character.
> 
> I also hope I made Walt somewhat sympathetic. He may be annoying at times, but he's still a good man. And his life is such a train wreck right now.
> 
> I'm 90% sure of the model of Jacob's gun, but I know next to nothing about firearms. So if anyone has any corrections, please let me know.
> 
> In the next chapter, we might — gasp! — actually learn the fate of Henry Standing Bear. Oh man. What am I getting myself into?


End file.
